


Go Pro

by the_ragnarok



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, M/M, Not!Fic, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:18:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek is a professional Dom, and Stiles hires him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Pro

The doorbell rings out Bach, and Derek grits his teeth knowing that this client is going to be another spoiled rich kid who thinks he’s something special. That impression is strengthened by the fact that he doesn’t open on the second ring or the third, and Derek is beginning to wonder uncomfortably if he’s at the right address when finally the door slams open.

“Sorry. You’re Derek, right, from the agency?” the kid says, breathless - he _is_ a kid, although definitely older than he looks. Derek knows the guy has to be legal. He picks at the hem of his t-shirt and offers Derek a wan smile. “I was going to change, but then I was on a roll, sorry again—”

“You’re taking it off anyway,” Derek says, shoving himself past the guy. Stiles, which is ridiculous enough that Derek can’t even think it’s fake. Who’d call himself that on purpose?

It might be a humiliation thing, but the preference sheet said clearly no humiliation, as little verbal communication as possible. Derek is fine with that. 

Still, there are some necessities. “Red is the safeword,” Derek says. Stiles’ list did specify he liked to resist. “Yellow is for slow down, green if everything is fine. That goes for both of us.”

“Well, duh.” Stiles rolls his eyes. He closes the door, bouncing on the heels of his feet. Derek gives him a long thoughtful look. A lot of restless energy that needs redirecting.

That’s what Derek’s here for.

First he removes Stiles’ glasses, folds them carefully and rests them on the dinner table. Then he says, “I told you to take off your clothes,” and in a heartbeat he’s got Stiles’ arm twisted behind his back, pinning Stiles to the wall. He grinds against Stiles’ ass for a long, shameless moment.

“Oh,” Stiles says, suddenly wordless except for that single broken sound.

Stiles is wearing sweatpants, which are easy for Derek to pull down with his free hand, smacking Stiles’ ass the moment it’s bared.

It’s a nice ass. Derek takes a moment to appreciate it, squeezing roughly; for someone who doubtlessly sits behind a desk 24/7, it’s surprisingly firm. The skin is very soft, pale and dotted with little moles.

Doesn’t stay pale for long, though, reddening in hand-shaped patches.

Stiles circles from quiet to noisy - begging, sobbing a little at the end - to quiet again, leaning most of his weight against the wall. When it’s clear he can’t hold himself up anymore Derek picks him up and moves him to the sofa, efficiently stripping Stiles and perching on the armrest once he’s done.

Stiles’ face is wet, his dick hard and leaking.

“Want me to do something about that?” Derek asks, intentionally vague.

Stiles raises a hand, clumsily grabbing for Derek’s pants. It takes a moment for Derek to parse what he needs. He stands up while Stiles drags himself to sit up straight, uses one hand to pin Stiles’ wrists to the wall above his head and the other to unbutton his pants.

Stiles’ eyes are closed but his mouth is open, breath hot on Derek’s bare skin. “I hope you know how to deep-throat,” Derek says, and pushes in. (Stiles does. It was in the list.)

The list, apparently, did not lie. Even so, Derek takes care, keeping a rhythm calculated to make Stiles feel like he’s just about to choke when Derek pulls back to let him breathe.

Stiles’ hips edge forward until he’s rubbing off against Derek’s knee, shameless and desperate. Derek bends his leg just a little bit, giving Stiles more to work with as well as a little edge of a threat.

But Stiles is behaving himself. He’s being very good, sucking on Derek’s dick when Derek gives him half a chance, hands eager and trembling in Derek’s grasp, fluttering like birds.

Then Stiles’ dick pulses against Derek’s leg. Stiles’ eyes snap open. They’re startlingly beautiful, wet with unshed tears, a clear brown color like puddles in the wood.

“Keep them open,” Derek snaps, watches Stiles’ irises dilate as Derek comes in his mouth, watches Stiles’ pink tongue as it flits out to lick his lips clean.

~~

Derek reads while Stiles recovers, head in Derek’s lap, face buried in Derek’s stomach.

Finally Stiles stretches, smiling fuzzily at Derek. “That was great.”

Derek can tell. Kid’s practically glowing. He replies with a modest nod.

Stiles grabs for his pants, fishing out his wallet. He pulls out bills, pausing to count them. 

“Thought you paid credit,” Derek says.

“Yeah, I did,” Stiles says. “That’s the tip. You don’t mind if I ask for you specifically next time, right?”

“That’s fine,” Derek says faintly, accepting more money than he usually gets paid in a week. “Add any requests if you have them.”

“Will do.” He follows Derek to the door, still a little wobbly on his feet. “Thanks again. See you next week.”


End file.
